


Nighttime Secrets and Broken Beer Bottles

by notthatcrazyfangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abused Sam, Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Angel Castiel, Big Brother Dean, Bisexual Dean, Cas is kinda stalkerish, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Castiel Feels, Castiel Has Secrets, Drunk John Winchester, Even from Dean, F/M, Jessica the Curious, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, John doesn't know of his own abuse, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overprotective Dean, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean, Protective Jessica, Sam Has Secrets, Secrets, Sorry Not Sorry, What Have I Done, Young Dean Winchester, Young Love, Young Sam Winchester, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 21:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4581558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthatcrazyfangirl/pseuds/notthatcrazyfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sam, what are you hiding from me?"<br/>"Hiding from you?"<br/>"Don't play dumb with me, Sam! What did you tell her that you couldn't tell me?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Holy crap this plotbunny bit me!  
> I had no inspiration all week, then suddenly I write a chapter in 2 hours?! Yeah, I'm still not over that.  
> I apologize to my beta and AllyWayUrie in advance.  
> There will be OOC-ness and writing that makes me want to retroactively return my middle-school diploma. It's THAT bad.  
> Also, AllyWayUrie, I'm sorry! Inspiration hit me at 9 pm and I was too sleepy to post! *dodges staircase*

Dean was mad as he sat on the bed in the motel room, thinking.

Scratch that, he was fucking _pissed_.

Something was wrong with Sam.

He had bruises all over his body. Bruises that he was pretty sure Sam couldn’t have gotten on hunts.

There were empty beer bottles in his motel room. _Why does Sam have bottles? He doesn’t drink._

He was too quiet. When Dean had asked Sam how he was doing, Sam answered shyly and didn’t meet his eyes. When he asked Sam what was wrong…

                        _“There’s nothing wrong.” But Sam’s voice cracked slightly and he was shaking._

 _Dean wondered for a second if he should call Sam out on his obvious bullshit._ Screw it _, he thought. “That’s bullshit, Sam. What’s wrong?”_

_“N-Nothing!” Sam stuttered. He paled when Dean took a step closer, stumbling backward._

_“You’re hiding something,” Dean said quietly. “Sam-”_

_“Boys!” Their father called them. Dean didn’t fail to notice Sam’s flinch. Something was seriously wrong._

That wasn’t the worst of it. No, now Sam was _avoiding_ him. He wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t talk to him. Hell, he talked to _their dad_ instead of him.

 _When was the last time Dad and Sam_ didn’t _argue?_ Dean wracked his brain for an answer. _Huh, I can’t remember._ His thoughts went back to his brother. _Why is Sam acting so weird?_ Dean’s eyes settled on his father’s journal. A horrifying thought struck him. _What if it’s not Sam?_

* * *

 Sam lay on the bed in the other room they had rented. He looked up at the ceiling riddled with cracks and peeling paint, trying to keep his mind off of other things. Like the fact that it hurt to move. His dad had gone out to drink, though, and he knew what would happen. His eyes slid shut. Hoping, even if it was useless.

There was a knock on the door. “Sam…” Sam shuddered at the sound of his father’s voice. “Open up.”

For a split second, Sam considered not answering the door. Then he remembered what happened the last time. John had let Dean go on a solo hunt, and then—No. He wouldn’t think about that.

John banged on the door. Sam got up, wincing. The injuries from last time hadn’t healed yet, but opening the door and letting his drunken father beat the shit out of him (again) was the _better_ option. _Fuck my life_ , he thought, opening the door and backing away.

But John Winchester wasn’t in a good mood. Sam got yanked back by the collar of his shirt. “Where do you think you’re going, you little piece of shit?” His words were slurred as he threw his younger son to the floor. Sam inhaled sharply. “I don’t even know why Mary died for you—” A punch to the gut knocked the wind out of him. “You’re not worth a tenth of her.” A kick to his side. Sam groaned in pain. “But she’s _gone_ —”A punch to the ribs. Sam heard a _crack_ and tried to hold in a scream of pain. “—and all I get is _you._ ”

Sam was numb at this point. After five years, he got used to it. That didn’t stop the sudden sharp pain as John kicked him in the face hard enough to knock teeth out. He barely registered John stumbling away. He just lay there for a while, looking at the ceiling, trying to keep his mind off other things, like his mother, the beating, Dean, life in general...

Hoping, even though it —and he— was useless.

 


	2. Worry's Meaning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY! *dodges AllyWayUrie's staircase and my beta's flute* Yeah, I know I screwed up, but it's my second week in high school and I'm super overwhelmed and sleepy.  
> Again, apologies in advance for this chapter.  
> And thanks to anyone who left kudos! *floats away on a kudos cloud*

His eyes narrow in thought. Dean had not prayed. The surge of _fearfrustrationcaringdesperation_ he had felt coming from the man was not prayer. So how and why was he here?

Surveying the place, Castiel noted that Dean had fallen asleep in a stack of books. Then it could not have been prayer. Dean would not pray in his sleep. Would he? No, he would not. There was no reason to be here. The man was not in danger of death. Sickness had not taken him. He was not wounded.

So why…?

He knew that Dean was worried about his brother. Personally, Castiel saw no reason to worry about the boy yet. He had already realized the danger of the demon blood. It had not activated.

It was a different kind of worry, however. Dean was concerned about the behavior change in Sam. If he found out what was truly happening, he would do something drastic. Dean would not allow anything bad to happen to Sam; the chances of him allowing the beatings to continue were very low. No matter whom it was.

Regardless, Sam prayed most nights. He had not prayed tonight, but he could not be hurt that badly. That was not a reason to be here, either.

At a glance into the other room, Castiel found that Sam was on the floor. He too was asleep, but unlike Dean, bruised. Castiel suppressed the sudden rush of his own confusion. Parents did not do this without cause. Children were gifts from God. What could Sam have done to deserve this? He remembered the prayers Sam had made. _Please, keep Dean safe. Don’t let anyone hurt him. Don’t let him see me like this…_ Castiel pondered the possible conclusions.

Was it simply that Sam wanted his brother to stay safe on the hunt, or –?

Could Sam be lying to his brother?

Castiel contemplated it. The prayers suddenly made sense in a different way, the implications of which could spell out possible danger.

 _Please, keep Dean safe._ From his own father.

 _Don’t let anyone hurt him._ Especially John Winchester.

 _Don’t let him see me like this…_ Bruised and beaten.

Both of them were safe for now. They would not remain that way, but they were safe for now.

If Dean discovered this…Castiel could not finish the thought. It made him feel something. An unusual _fear_ that his charge would hurt himself somehow, that was as irrational as the thought of disobedience. He went back to the room that Dean was staying in, frowning.

Castiel was only supposed to watch Dean from a distance. Even considering interference was a grave offense. But what harm would a glance do? Castiel supposed that the real question was why he was attempting to justify a visit that he should not even be making. He shook his head. Why he was thinking what he was he had no idea.

Castiel turns to leave. Just to be sure, he looks over his shoulder at Dean’s face, unsure why he needed to see Dean safe again. He stifled the urge to stay as he vanished. He was already keeping watch.

For the first time in his life, Castiel felt _confusedunsureoverwhelmed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel, I am so sorry...*hides* Don't smite me! *buries face in hands*  
> This is so bad. Seriously. It's embarrassing how bad this is. *blushes*


	3. Where- How...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AllyWayUrie, I am so sorry for not having the Ryden fic up in time. IT WILL BE UP TOMORROW.  
> Anyway...*dodges my beta's flute and looks at her* what the hell was that for?! It's acually finished and posted! On time! Look! *dodges flute case* Seriously?!  
> Sorry for always being late :(

"Sam!" Sam felt himself being shaken. "Sammy, wake up!"

"Dean?" Sam blinked. Yeah, that was Dean. He was sore as hell everywhere-- _Ouch!_ Dean, that was his _possibly broken rib!_ \--and he'd fallen asleep on the floor. Gritting his teeth, he asked, "Dean, can you stop shaking me? I'm awake." _  
_

But Dean didn't get up, his eyes instead focusing on Sam's cheek. His fingers brushed the bruise where John had hit him. "Where did you get this?"

For a second, Sam froze.  _How am I supposed to explain_ this _?_ He opened his mouth to lie. Then he remembered yesterday, where he tried--and  _failed_ \--to lie to Dean.  _Telling the truth is out of the question. What would I say? 'Hey Dean, Dad's been beating me up when he was drunk for five years.'_ He almost laughed at the thought, but instead he just shrugged, at a loss for words. _  
_

"Sam-" Dean started, but Sam interrupted him. If Dean kept asking questions about his bruise, he might tell him everything. He couldn't afford that.

"I'll be alright, okay?" Dean's eyes narrowed, and Sam realized that he'd spoken a little harshly. Still, he continued in the same tone. "Just don't ask."

Dean seemed ready to do a lot more asking when John walked in. "Dean!"

"Yes sir?"

"You're coming with me." It wasn't a question. It never was with their father.

Dean nodded. Just then, Sam caught sight of the clock, and his eyes widened. He was going to be late to school! He began to rise off the floor. It was a struggle. By the time he got up, Sam was a little lightheaded.  _Shit, the room is spinning..._ He waited for the pounding in his head to stop, inadvertently pitching back and forth, resisting the urge to collapse again.

When Dean glanced back, it took him a fraction of a second to process the fact that, yes, his brother  _was_  as wobbly as a drunk person. On any other day, he would have snickered at Sam, but this wasn't really any other day. "Shit," he muttered. "Sammy, what happened?" In four strides he'd crossed the room and grabbed Sam. "Did you drink somethin' or what?"

"M'name's Sam," he purposely avoided the first question, "and I don't drink." He protested weakly as Dean pushed him onto the bed. Dean could get into trouble.

John stared at the two boys for a long moment, and nodded. Sam, who'd been watching John, flopped down on the bed in relief. Everything--or what felt like everything--hurt. "What about school?" If his dad said he had to stay home, he would. Otherwise, he wouldn't stay home at all.

Dean looked at him as if he was crazy. "You can't miss a day?"

Luckily, John interrupted. "No," he answered Dean. He addressed Sam next. "You can go to school today."

Sam could tell that Dean was barely keeping himself from protesting. "Thank you, sir." 

John didn't respond or meet his eyes.


	4. What's wrong with Sam?

Sam always walked to school. It was one of the few times where he was all by himself. He usually spent it trying _not_ to contemplate the meaning of life (or anything, really) and cursing when he realized he forgot to finish his English homework and would have to do it in the library at lunch _again_.

But today was apparently going to be different. Sam was about to stumble out the door to school when he heard Dean say, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going to school.”

“Looking like that? Sammy, you wouldn’t make it out the parking lot. And even if you _did_ make it to school, you’d collapse.”

“M’name’s _Sam_ ,” Sam grumbled, “and I’ll be fine.” Dean’s lips curved upward, just slightly. “Dean, I’m serious.”

Dean’s smile faded as his younger brother let go of the door he’d been leaning on. Wobbling dangerously, Sam nevertheless made it out the door and onto the street. “Fuck.” Dean sent his father a glance. “Can I-”

“Yes, you can take Sam to school in the Impala.” John already knew what Dean was going to ask. Besides, Dean could _literally_ worry himself sick over Sam. It actually happened a couple of times, and John couldn’t afford it happening again.

Dean nodded. “Thanks.” He raced after Sam, shouting, “Hey, Sam!

John watched Dean go. Those boys…Dean and Sam… Concern bubbled up in him at the thought of his younger son. The kid looked like shit, if John had to be blunt. It was after he had gone drinking, but there was no way… _No_. That wasn’t an option. He would never do that.

* * *

Dean hurried after his stumbling brother. “Sam, wait!” Sam didn’t even acknowledge him. He just walked away alone. And Dean wasn’t having any of it. “Get in the Impala.”

Sam just shook his head. Sitting in that car meant time. Time to think about… He walked faster, almost running. It was painful, but it kept his mind off worse thoughts.

Dean got in the Impala, still intent on following Sam. He drove the Impala out of the parking lot. In five seconds, he had caught up to his younger brother. “Seriously, Sam, get in the car. You’ll be late. You can’t even walk right!”

Sam paused. _I really can’t be late again. I’ve already been late four times…_ “What time is it?”

“Eight fifteen.” For Sam, that meant he’d _have_ to take Dean’s offer. School was in fifteen minutes. In his state, he wouldn’t make it in time.

“Dean, wait.” Dean stopped the car, looking like he just saved Sam from death instead of getting to school late.

* * *

Jessica Moore liked helping people get better. That’s why she was helping the school nurse.

That’s also why she did a double take as a beaten-looking boy walked down the hallway. She already knew who he was—Sam was (kind of) new—but the bruise on the face was _new_.

_How could he have gotten that?_ She wondered, her mind running through potential scenarios. He could have tripped, but the chances of that were low, and he would have had to fall sideways or something. Banged against something by accident? Still unlikely.

No, that bruise was from another person, which brought about another question: Who would punch Sam Winchester? And _why?_

Jessica’s mind came up with a blank. Yeah, Sam wasn’t popular, but he wasn’t really known. He was just a loner, not rude or anything. Hell, she remembered talking to him. He was always on guard, but he _was_ kind. _And he did help me get an A in English._

She remembered the last day they had worked together.

            _It had come out as a nervous rush of words just before the bell rung. “Ithinkyourereallyprettyandnice.”_

_“I-” Jessica couldn’t understand what Sam was trying to say. “_ What? _”_

_Sam had already packed up his things, though, and he left. Jessica could have sworn he was blushing…_

Jessica shook her head. That memory always made her blush for some weird reason. The point was, there wasn’t any reason for anyone to beat him up that would make any sense.

_He could be a druggie._ A traitorous part of Jessica’s mind supplied. _He could be an alcoholic, or a smoker, or emo—_ Jessica squashed the thoughts. They were just rumors made up by assholes who didn’t know him. _You don’t know him either,_ The voice goes on. You’re _not his friend or anything._

She glanced over at Sam, part curious, part concerned. Sam didn’t look like he could hurt her.

_Looks can be deceiving._

She didn’t know him. She couldn’t judge him.

_Do you really want to get involved with whatever it is? Sam got hurt by it, do you want to get hurt too?_

Maybe. She’d always been too inquisitive for her own good.

_Oh for goodness sake,_ the traitorous voice mutters. _I’m trying to keep you safe, because_ you _certainly aren’t trying._ But it shut up, leaving Jessica alone.

Speak of the devil…Sam passed her, his eyes scanning her. She saw him relax slightly. Then he turned away once more.

_Maybe,_ Jessica thought, _maybe I could be friends with Sam._


	5. Blue-Eyed Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS UNBETA'D. MY WRITING IS SHIT UNLESS MY BETA (who I'll call TocarLaFlauta for privacy's sake) ACTUALLY CHECKS IT. THAT IS ALL.   
> P.S. Sorry I'm late again! 

The first time Dean saw Castiel, it was an accident on Castiel’s part.

Dean had dropped off Sam at school. He was driving back to the motel. Maybe they had a hunt around here. He _was_ getting a little restless.

Castiel was in a human vessel. (Just to keep a closer watch, he’d told himself. To keep him safe.) He watched as the Impala drove–slowly, in his opinion–stopping plenty of times along the way.

Humans’ transportation was so slow, he mused. Having to walk even slower was just a bit of a hassle. But he kept those thoughts to himself as he made his way along the streets, following the car, almost crashing into a blonde woman.

“Hey, you! Yes, you,” she said, literally pushing Castiel out of the way. “Watch it!” The woman was looking for a confrontation, Castiel realized. Her body was in a tense fighting stance, her hands making fists. Her eyes concentrated on him, daring him to make a move. He would not indulge her.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “…I do not see the issue.” Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a couple people gathering around them.

The blonde woman glared at him. “Now, listen—” At this point, however, he had to move, or risk losing Dean. “Hey! You!” She stopped screaming when Castiel simply walked away. But as he walked down to the end of the street, where the car had stopped _again_ , Castiel still felt the woman trying to burn a hole in him with her eyes. He could not find it in himself to care about her.

Though Castiel did not realize quite how much attention the blonde woman had drawn to them, he wondered why, exactly, he had to push through twice as many people as he had before the conversation.

He also did not realize _whose_ attention he had gotten.

* * *

Dean first saw the blue eyes when he glanced at the rearview mirror. They were burning with intensity, a focused intensity. Focused on him.

_Something’s…off…about that guy_. Dean kept an eye on him by occasionally glancing in the rearview mirror. He was still there. Every single time. He caught glances of a trench coat, a tie, a white shirt collar, and black pants. _Well, his clothes don’t tell me anything. Nothing obvious there, except for the trench coat._

A blonde started yelling at the (man?) for no particular reason. He said something back that Dean couldn’t hear. The woman started yelling again. _Maybe she’s his wife._ He flat out walked away from her, though. Toward the Impala. Focused on him. _Nope, not his wife._ He stopped very deliberately behind Dean’s car, and kept staring.

The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stood on end. It wasn’t human. But it wasn’t like any other monster he’d ever seen. _What the hell_ is _it?_ It bugged him, even as he reached the motel and parked his car.

His first instinct _was_ to kill that son of a bitch, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know what he was dealing with.

Yet.

Just for good measure, he glanced at the rearview mirror before opening his door. _Damn, he’s still there! He’s fucking_ stalking _me!_ Dean stepped out anyway. He was at the motel; his dad was nearby. He wasn’t alone.

It wasn’t what he heard that bothered him. It was what he didn’t. He didn’t hear the whatever-the-fuck-it-was walking. In a tiny area with nothing really going on, without wind or anything noisy (which was _also_ strange), he couldn’t hear the stranger.

Dean turned around, actually turned around instead of looking through the rearview mirror. Sure enough, the thing was gone. _Son of a bitch!_

* * *

 

Castiel teleported himself just out of Dean’s line of sight. That had been very, very close. He had evidently done something that the human had noticed. Maybe it was the woman who had screamed at him.

He did not know why she yelled at him, or how to keep another incident like it from happening again. Had he done something that was odd to humans? He had no idea. He shook his head. Sometimes, Castiel thought, humans can be so confusing.


	6. Sam and Jess meet...again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank the lovely TocarLaFlauta (my beta) from posting some really, really OOC Dean. *yes I can see you facepalming, beta* So I decided to give you guys Sam/Jess instead. (Because honestly, these two are the PB&J of SPN pairings.) But this week was hella busy for both of us (Basketball for me, Music for her) so...  
> Also, whenever you see this, hey Ally! The bandom needs you!

It was lunch, and Sam had skipped the eating to go to the library and finish the English essay he’d forgotten was due that day. (It was just lucky that English was after lunch.)

He was pretty close to finishing it, typing faster than a Wendigo ran. _Third paragraph…done, fourth paragraph…quotations…citations…evidence…conclusion…the conclusion’s done!_ Sam could have jumped to the ceiling. It was strange, how he was still super relieved after each essay was finished.

Sam grinned as he hit print. Still smiling, he made his way to the printer. Four pages, four _amazing_ pages, lay there. While Sam was unusually happy, someone walked up behind him. Their footsteps grew louder—clop, clop, clop. Sam didn’t hear until the person spoke.

“Hey, Sam, how are you?”

Sam started. His whole body tensed up. When he realized who it was, however, he relaxed a little. Just a little. _Oh, yeah, isn’t that Jessica…?_

“Hi, Jessica,” he muttered, looking down, even if he wasn’t facing her. His face flushed. “I’m doing good. You?”

“Oh, doing your English essay the day it’s due is ‘doing good’.” Jessica teased gently, but she was a little concerned. It was obvious in her voice.

“You caught me,” he said, amused. His hands were up. “I _did_ write it...but I forgot to type it.” Just then, the bell rang. Sam sighed. _Great, now I’ll be hungry_ and _sore for the rest of the day._ As quickly as he could, Sam packed his things. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Jessica still there, waiting. “Well, see you in English.” He walked out of the library.

Jessica blinked. For a second, she didn’t know what to say. What to do. She was frozen, caught in a battle with herself. Should she ask Sam? Would that be weird?

The moment passed. “Wait, Sam!” Sam turned back around. “Walk with me?” Sam’s eyes widened. This time, it was Jessica who turned pink as he stared at her for a second before nodding hestitantly.

They talked on the way to English…well, Jessica talked. But Sam answered some of her questions.

She counted it as a win.

* * *

After school found Sam and Jess still talking.

“Sam, for the _sixth time_ , call me Jess.” Jess said. Her arms were crossed.

“But your name’s Jessica.” Sam pointed out. “And nobody else calls you Jess.”

“Well, nobody else—that you’ve seen, anyway—is my friend.” Sam flushed again.

“I gotta go now, though.” Sam said.

“You have your own car?”

“No, and I’m a _sophomore_ , can’t have a car.” Jess looked confused. “I walk home.”

“Oh,” Jess replied. “You sure you don’t want a ride?”

Sam shook his head. “See you tomorrow, Jess!” He waved while walking away.

Then he prepared for the long walk home.

* * *

Jess stood there for a moment, realizing two things after he left.

One, she didn’t know who/what caused the bruise on Sam’s face, even now.

And two, Sam had called her Jess.


	7. Tardy to Home (or the closest we got to one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is short! I wrote it at 5 am because that's the only available time I had.  
> On the upside, AllyWayUrie is back in action as my beta! *claps excitedly* I feel so honored. :) So maybe it'll be coherent for y'all.

When Dean glanced at the clock, he found that it was a quarter to four. That wouldn’t be a problem, except that he felt he wasn’t remembering something.

Why did he feel like he’d forgotten something? Mentally, he counted his list of priorities. _Sammy, Dad, hunting—Sammy!_ He’d completely forgotten to ask Sam when school went out, and he didn’t remember it himself. He wasn’t an idiot, though. School didn’t run this late.

“Son of a-” A knock on the door cut Dean off. Dean had been standing close to it, so he had no choice but to open it. For a split second he wondered if it was that paranormal stranger.

“Dean?” Sam asked as he walked into their motel room, as if on cue. Like it was _normal_ for him to walk all the way back to the motel, especially after this morning.

“When did school go out?” was the first thing that popped out of Dean’s mouth, even if he really was concerned. What he wanted to ask was _are you okay?_ or _what happened this morning?_ He especially wanted to know _what is it that you can’t tell me?_

“Quarter after three,” _Holy shit, that was half an hour ago!_ “You didn’t know?”

“No shit, I didn’t know,” Dean snapped. Sometimes Sam made him feel stupid: he didn’t like feeling stupid. “I can’t fucking read minds! You should have called.”

Now Sam was looking at him like _he_ was the weird one. “I walk home from school all the time. It doesn’t really matter.” He shrugged, wincing as he aggravated at least three different sore areas.

“You’re hurt.” Dean made his words sound like an accusation instead of a statement of fact. “You’re _hurt_ and walking home _alone_. There are some really creepy-ass pedophiles and gangsters who’d love that.”

Sam hesitated. “…Like I said, doesn’t really matter,” he said in a forced neutral voice. “I walk home all the time. Besides, I’m too old for pedophiles, and we’re hunters.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something. Then he closed it. _Sammy’s hurt!_ Part of him said. _Help him, idiot!_ The other part, the hunter rather than the person who’d practically raised his little brother, said, _He’s gotten hurt worse. He’ll live, and even_ he _knows that._ He pressed his lips together. A memory of his father saying something similar crossed his mind.

            _“Dean, you’ve got to stop coddling Sam. He’s fifteen now.”_

“Dean?” Sam asked quietly. Dean snapped back to reality.

“Yeah, Sammy?”

Sam scowled at the nickname. “ _Sam_ ,” he corrected vehemently, “And you kinda just dosed off."

“Just thinking.” Dean said lightly. Too lightly. “Go do your homework, Sammy.” Sam threw his hands up in an I-give-up gesture.

“‘Thinking?’” Sam repeated disbelievingly. “Was it about a hunt-”—the odd blue eyes came to mind again—“-or a chick you picked up at the bar?”

Dean didn’t listen. He’d never confronted the idea of letting Sammy go. He knew he’d have to do it eventually, but the idea was too painful to even consider. _I just need a bit more time._

“Jerk,” he heard. The word was tinged with affection. Realizing it was Sam, he smiled. _Same old Sammy,_ he thought. _Hasn’t changed, even if he is freakishly tall._

“Bitch,” he responded without any real venom in his voice. For now, he could let all of this go. It didn’t _have_ to matter…yet.

He had to have his moments, after all. They were the closest thing to peace that he could accept. After all, Dean would never stop hunting. Who could blame him for not being able to stop caring, either?


	8. Fraying Resistance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh! I am SO SORRY! Life happened :( Seriously, I suddenly have practice 5 days a week...Doesn't help my terrible procrastination...

The next day, Sam walked to school.

Dean protested, obviously, but Sam was alright. Well…kinda.

“Sam!” Dean snapped. “Get in the car!”

“I already told you, I’m walking!”

“And I already told _you_ , I’m driving you!”

Sam shook his head, He was walking. He wasn’t hurt badly; there was no reason to waste Dean’s time. Sam had already started, anyway. All he had to do was keep going.

“Hey, don’t turn your back on me!” Dean glared at Sam’s back for a minute, burning. Like Dean’s gaze was the holy water, and Sam was a demon. “Get back here!”

Sam turned back around. That was his mistake. Dean’s glare was filled with anger and concern he’d never admit to. _Not hate,_ Sam reminded himself, _not blank, not_ him _…_ In that moment their eyes met. _Burning, pain, hurts it hurts it—_ No, he wasn’t there. He was looking Dean in the eye, not John. Dean wasn’t going to— _punching, screaming, kicking, all_ his fault—And he didn’t realize that he’d said it out loud until he had. _All my fault._

“Sam, wait up!” Dean had heard him and he was more worried, apparently. “What’s wrong?” The anger had vanished from Dean’s eyes as quickly as it came. Sam was safe-ish again.

With suddenly shaky legs, Sam continued walking. This was _Dean._ The man was like a mother hen when it came to Sam. A badass mother hen. He’d never- He wouldn’t hurt Sam, not on purpose. _He won’t hurt me, he won’t, that’s Dean, he probably can’t…_ The frantic thoughts made Sam feel sick. _Keep going, dom’t stop, keep moving…_

“Sam!" Dean tried again. It was no use. Sam had already stopped listening.

* * *

“Hey Sam!” Sam stiffened. _Dean’s right. What is wrong with me today? It’s Jess!_ He forced himself to relax. She smiled brightly at him. “How are you?”

Hurt. Scared. Desperate. Maybe dying. Everything falling apart. “I’m fine,” he said, offering a smile. “How about you?” He tried his best to keep his voice even, but he squeaked half of it and whispered—albeit loudly—the rest.

Jessica giggled. “I’m doing good.” She leaned in a bit closer. “Do you know Mrs. Wong?”    

“She’s my math teacher,” Sam admitted, “and she really is as bad as the rumors, maybe worse.”

Jessica laughed again. “She’s my math teacher too. While we’re talking about that…” She seemed hestitant. Sam narrowed his eyes. “Do you remember the homework?” Now she was sheepish. Sam couldn’t help but tease her about it.

“Now who’s doing their homework the day it’s due?” He smirked as she blushed. “Lucky for you, she assigned no homework for my class—” Jessica relaxed a little. “—but she has different homework for each period.” Jessica groaned.

“I have never hated her more.”

Sam scratched the back of his head. “And her kid’s worse.”

“You’ve met him? The adorable six year old?” Jess asked, genuinely interested.

“Yeah…”

“Why do I have a feeling something hilarious happened?”

“Mrs. Wong taught that kid _everything_. Including his…vocabulary…”

This time Jessica doubled over laughing, inferring what had happened. “You got cussed out by a little kid?!”

“Shut up,” Sam said, blushing. “You know what Mrs. Wong said after that?” Jessica paused. “‘Good job, little asshole.’” Jessica doubled over laughing again, clutching her stomach. The image of awkward, tall Sam getting cussed out by a chubby six year old was too funny.

“Did she really—”

“Yes,” Sam cut her off, “She did.”

The bell rung, and they went off to their classes. It had been a good start to the day.

* * *

Sam walked into the motel at 3:45 as usual, right into Dean’s line of sight. As soon as the older boy started glaring at him, he sniffled. “Dean, are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?” Dean seemed angry again. “You walked to school today.”

“Dean, I’m okay…”

“After yesterday? You could have been hurt.”

“Be realistic.”

“I am—”

“What he _meant_ to say,” John interrupted, “is that he got ‘worried sick’ over you…again…” Sam watched him, a little wary, though he was at the other side of the room. John took a gun from the wall and examined it. “Sam, you _will_ be going to school in the Impala. Understood?”

“Yes sir.” He wasn’t happy about it by any means. It was like how he knew about supernatural creatures. He didn’t _like_ it, but it was preferable to not knowing.

John’s stare intensified for a second, but Sam felt it. _I am so screwed._               


	9. In which Cas crashes a car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title says it all. Go back and read it. This is embarrassingly bad-looking to me, but then again everything is. I'll explain at the end of the chapter. Betas, do me a favor and rip this to shreds. *paper tearing* No, not the actual paper! The stuff on the paper is good! Come back!! *chases scraps of paper*  
> I'm just staring at the Post button like "I know I have to...but this is CRAP."

The next day, when Dean drove Sam to school, Castiel was there.

He sensed that something was going to happen.

Quietly, also making sure not to bump into blonde women, Castiel followed Dean’s car out the parking lot of the motel. He was slower this time, remembering how Dean had caught him…somehow…

Nothing happened for a couple minutes. Dean was fine, Sam was close enough to fine; Castiel had no reason to worry. He reached out toward Dean’s mind.

Then Dean nearly crashed the car.

Castiel’s eyes widened. The abrupt swerve that Dean had made took Castiel off-guard. Focus on the righteous man, Castiel chided himself, shaking his head before slipping out of sight.

* * *

Dean glanced at his brother as he got in the car. “Why are you sitting in the back?” Sam shrugged. Dean watched him for a couple of seconds. Sam was _fidgeting_. _Why’s he so nervous?_ He knew his younger brother would lie if he brought it up. It was one of those things that Sam had been doing lately. So for now, Dean let it be.

He started the car and got out of the parking lot. When he stopped at the traffic light, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. _Something’s here—but what?_ Dean prided himself on sniffing out the supernatural better than the average person. Maybe that was only because he _knew_ about the supernatural. Knowledge is power and all.

His mind jumped to the strange being with the blue eyes. It’d _stalked_ him. _If I checked…_ He peeked at the rearview mirror— _Holy shit!_ The car’s tires screeched as it swerved, almost out of control.

“Dean!” Sam shouted. He clung onto the seat, shaking. “What—” Dean shook his head. That whatever-it-was was _right there._ He was…watching them.  _He’s probably trying to make us crash! Or is he trying to figure out who we are? Some sort of stakeout?_   What could he focus on? “Dean!” _…Sam!_ Sam had to get to school on time. He focused on that.

The feeling went away…mostly. It was enough for him to focus on the drive. “I’m alright.”

“You nearly crashed the car, Dean! What the hell happened?” Sam yelled.

Even if Dean couldn’t look, he could see the panic and worry on Sam’s face. In that moment, Dean made a decision. _I’ll handle this one myself._ He pressed his hand against his forehead. “Nothing,” Dean answered, unusually subdued, “Just thought I saw a friend.”

“Dean, you don’t have any friends.”

“Well, _someone’s_ being a bitch today.”

“Jerk.” Sam paused. “Don’t change the subject.”

“This one chick-”

“Dean, that is a really obvious lie.” Sam frowned. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

_I’m being stalked by some creature. I don’t know what the fuck it is. Also, it tried to crash my car!_

“Yeah.”


	10. Chapter 10

Dean was not expecting the blond-haired woman to walk up to his car. Before he could even think to make a pass at her, though, her face twisted into an expression of confusion.

 _That_ wasn’t a girl’s usual reaction to him. But then why was she here?

“Later, Dean.” Sam opened the door to the car.

“Bye, Sam.” Dean automatically replied. When the girl saw Sam, her whole face lit up. He watched as Sam smiled the first real smile he’d seen on his face in a long damn time. _When did Sam get a girlfriend?_

Someone in the car behind him honked their horn. Dean scowled but drove away.

* * *

“Who’s your girlfriend?” Dean asked as Sam got in the car—front seat this time.

Sam flushed. Jessica was _right there_. She could hear Dean…and judging by her blush, she _had._ “Shut up,” Sam looked straight ahead instead of at Jessica’s embarrassed—beautiful—smile or Dean’s smug one. “Jessica’s not my girlfriend.”

“Sure she isn’t.” Dean stretched _sure_ into _suuuuuure_ in his disbelief. “Why haven’t you asked her out yet then? She’s so into you she didn’t even look at me!”

“A big accomplishment, I’m sure,” Sam said dryly. His face was still flushed. Yes, he liked the idea of asking out Jess. She was everything good in a girl. _But for her to hear that? That’s—I mean_ —“And I think she heard you. Thanks for that, jerk.”

“You’re welcome, bitch,” Dean turned to look at Sam. “Hey,” he responded to Sam’s bitchface, “you wouldn’t have done it yourself.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but he didn’t deny it. Arguing with Dean over girls couldn’t end well. Besides, he might have been a miniscule amount correct…not that he’d ever admit it, of course. “Besides, even if I did…Dean, you know how much we move around. We wouldn’t be able to stay together.”

“Go for it!” Dean was still smirking. “C’mon, live a little.” On that note, the car behind Dean honked. Dean glared at the rearview mirror. “Not again.” He grumbled, but began to move forward anyway.

Sam sighed. It took him a couple seconds to speak again. “She deserves better. Dean,” as Dean opened his mouth to protest, “don’t.” Dean shuts his mouth. Later he would point Jessica out to John. Sam world be the one to pay for his mistake.

* * *

John was drunk. Again.

Sam sucked in a breath, scared, waiting. He wasn’t so naïve to believe he’d get away. He’d walked into the motel room _before_ realizing that his dad had drunk a couple of beers. If he could he would have shut and locked the door.

John’s glare focused on Sam.

John was sitting on the bed. The bed that was _Sam’s_. Beer bottles lay around him. His eyes were glazed over. In his hand was a half-finished bottle of beer.

Sam took a step back despite himself.

John gulped down the rest of the bottle, slamming it on the nightstand. “You.”

 _This isn’t normal_. Sam’s hands shook. Normally John would be outside and Sam would open the door like the good boy he tried to be. John would be screaming mad and Sam would take it. John wouldn’t just sit there, coldly gazing at Sam. As if he were sober.

John got up, only slightly unsteady. Sam’s legs nearly gave out. _He usually waits at least a week_! Sam thought. _How long has it been? Four days_?

John took four steps toward Sam. Now he was right in front of him. Sam smelled the beer. John reeked of it. But Sam didn’t see John’s fist until John punched him right in the gut with it. He gasped in pain and doubled over. John reached around him to close the door.

He grabbed Sam by the back of his shirt and _bang!_ Sam hit the wall, face first. He didn’t have time to reach for it. He was losing his balance…losing…lost, on the floor.

John stood for a second. Sam could only see his silhouette. The room was dark. John had forgotten to turn on the light. _But who else can it be?_

He had a couple of seconds when John stumbled, holding the bed to keep himself steady. His brief peace ended when John kicked him in the stomach, missing the ribs. Lucky me. John punched him—this time, he didn’t miss the ribs. Sam groaned in pain, blood trickling down the side of his face and staining the cheap motel carpet.

“Does it hurt?”— _ohowmyface_ —“It should, you little shit!”— _coughing, proba’lym’diaphragm_ —“I saw that girl. She looks so much like Mary.”— _ohnocan’tbreathedyingthisisit_ —“Why do you get to be happy with that girl, huh? Why’re you alive and Mary dead?!”— _breathingagain_. John reached out. For a second, Sam considered taking that hand. Then it slapped him in the face.

Sam realized belatedly that he’d landed on the broken glass.

Just like the other time, Sam forgave his father without knowing something needed to be forgiven. All he was thinking was _lucky me, my head isn’t resting on the glass_. Never did he blame his father. Not after the adrenaline rush was over. Not when the glass that pierced his skin started hurting. Not when he lay on the bed on his stomach (He hated sleeping on his stomach.). Not when he heard Dean knocking at the door. Not even when he knew he’d have to answer Dean’s questions could Sam blame his father.

_After all, John’s right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda wonder if people are reading this. So, if you're reading this, can you go down in the comments and just say something like "Hey, I'm reading this fic." Or "[Don't, if you hate it] Keep writing." Or "This is what I think..." It won't take that long, you know. And it would make my day :)


	11. Missing Variable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am very sorry I couldn't update for two months. But the hiatus is over!! And the chapter is super short. :( I'm sorry, but I just got back from a three day tournament. And my ma made me prepare for New Years. So...yeah...*hides from betas* shhh, they didn't check this. They'll go crazy trying to do damage control.  
> *Yawns* I'll fix it in the huge editing thing (that's probably going to be in March...I should really stop making promises).

As soon as Castiel sensed Dean’s panic, he—and his human vessel—were there. He was right on time. Barely a moment later, Dean slammed the door open, running to his car as though demons were after him. Castiel watched Dean fumble around with his keys for a minute. Then he unlocked the trunk of his car, muttering threats and curses under his breath, searching for something. But what?

Castiel glanced at the hotel, and abruptly it occurred to him that something in there must have upset Dean. He looked into the hotel room, for the door remained open. What he saw saddened and shocked him.

Sam Winchester’s prayers had not been answered, not in the slightest.

* * *

“What the fuck is going on?!” Dean yelled.

He’d walked in to a bleeding and bruised Sam lying on the floor. Right away Dean was at his side. “Sammy!”

Glass shards surrounded him. His hands lay a couple inches from his body. His knees were bent and his legs leaned against the bed. His eyes scrunched shut in pain.

In short, Sam looked like a ghetto kid version of Sleeping Beauty, and no matter how much Dean teased Sam about looking like a girl, this image disturbed him, and he was a _hunter. Dammit, Sam!_

A glint of amber glass caught his eyes. Seeing the piece on Sam’s shoulder, he reached up to brush it off.

It didn’t come off. Dean took about three seconds to realize that the glass shard was embedded in Sam’s shoulder and about one second to freak the fuck out because _his baby brother is lying in sharp glass._

“Fuck!” Dean swore again. He stood up and ran to go find the first-aid kit. _Where is it? Outside, in the Impala…Keys, need the keys._

Dean was trying to find the first-aid kit when he felt _that presence_ again. Warily he looked to the rearview mirror.

 _Damn it all!_ Dean thought as otherworldly beautiful blue eyes were reflected in that mirror. His gaze became a glare. If looks could kill…Dean pulled out his gun, the one filled with bullets. _Can’t take any chances with Sammy hurt._ He calculated in his mind desperately. It vanished when he looked directly at it, so he wouldn’t. Maybe if he kept his back turned? __Dangerous, but he had no real choice here.

Slowly he backed up. _Step. Step. Step. Step. Step._

* * *

Castiel blinked. In his haste to see Sam, he had forgotten to keep track of Dean. Where was Dean?

On that note, he felt someone behind him. Dean. He whirled around quickly. Dean was clearly tense and angry.

He also had a gun pointed directly at Castiel.

Now it was Castiel warily watching Dean. He could do something, but he’d reveal himself.

Dean concealed his gun by pressing close enough to him that between the trench coat and the leather jacket, it couldn’t be seen well. He leaned forward, right next to Castiel’s ear. “Who the hell are you,” he growled, “and why the _hell_ are you stalking me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Dean shoot Castiel? Will Castiel reveal who and what he really is? How far will Sam go to keep the truth about the abuse from Dean? All answered...next chapter! Sorry, but the writer's block isn't all gone yet, so this should keep you satisfied for about a day or so...  
> Good night! It's 2:35 AM (pacific time) and I am exhausted. AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!! 2016, HELL YEAH, AM I RIGHT?! XD


	12. Face to face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slides in under closing deadline* Made it!  
> ................................
> 
> Ok so I didn't make the other one. Bite me.

“What?” was the first word Castiel forced out. He was not supposed to be seen. How? How had Dean done what no other could? Castiel cursed his own lack of awareness.

The adrenaline-inducing _fearangerworryconfusiondread_ from Dean had an effect, and Castiel barely fought it off. “What do you speak of?” Dean’s fingers tightened around the gun. Clearly the oblivious route would not work on the righteous man. “…there is an injured man in your room, is there not?” He raised his hands in symbol of surrender similar to a criminal. He’d forgotten that usually human criminals didn’t have powers. Raising hands meant something _very_ different than intended.

One second passed. Dean became more tense against him.

Two. The gun still pressed to his heart.

Three. Dean still angry, still scared.

“…please do not shoot me.” The sentence had the opposite effect: the feelings increased to an almost murderous level.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Dean spoke through gritted teeth.

Because your brother is hurt and praying, Castiel restrained himself from saying. Instead, he replied with, “Are you a murderer?”

Their eyes met. “Are you human?” Dean replied.

“Of course—”—not. Belatedly he realized that he was lying, lying to his charge, to the righteous man.

No, this was not going as it should. He was probably going to die…

* * *

“…then no.” Dean replied, reluctantly lowering his hand. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I-”

“It is alright.” The man said but he was shivering. Dean felt shame rise up in him. “You could not take any chances with your…”

“Brother,” Dean supplied.

“…brother hurt.” He finished. Then he blinked. “What is your name?”

Hostility crept back into Dean’s voice. “What, so you can turn us in to the cops? Forget it.”

The man cocked his head to the side slightly. “I do not intend to…turn you in to the cops.” He started hesitantly, as if the phrase was unfamiliar to him. “If it aids you, my name is Castiel.” After he said it, his eyes widened like he said something he shouldn’t have. More than likely he wanted to hide from something or someone. It _was_ his real name, then.

“Dean,” he muttered in reply. “Is there any way I could—” The man—Castiel—cuts him off.

“I wish to speak under more neutral circumstances.” Castiel blurted out. His eyes widened slightly. He felt Dean relax beside him, taken aback.

“So…coffee?” he asked. If all it took was a coffee, he’d do it right after helping Sam…oh, _shit!_

_Sam!_

“My brother,” Dean gestured to the hotel room with one hand, and _ran_.

 _First-aid kit_ , he thought before grabbing it and running back to the hotel room. As soon as he got in the hotel room, he slammed the door shut behind him.

* * *

Sam stirred slightly. “Mmmhhmmmphmmhh…De?” The small, heartbreakingly weak voice calls _. Sam’s voice should never sound like that._

“Sam!” Dean kneeled beside him again. “Sam, c’mon, get up.” He took hold of Sam’s hands and pulled him up. His grip on Sam’s hands tightened involuntarily at the sight before his eyes.

Large shards of glass were lodged in his back. Luckily for him, the smaller shards, the ones harder to get out, lay harmlessly near the wall. Not by Sam.

“Dean…” Sam opened his eyes. “Wha—”

“How did this happen?"

Sam didn’t answer.


	13. Castiel's Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is resolved to stay quiet. Dean is resolved to make him talk. Castiel's solution surprises them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dodges angry readers*  
> So I'm back. Life kept me from posting for a while, but I will try to post bigger regular chapters.  
> Here you go, AllyWayUrie.  
> Hope y'all enjoy!

Sam wasn't talking. He hadn't spoken a word since he woke up, bloody and beaten, on the floor. The bed and the floor around it were stained with blood, and Dean had no idea how. The only sign that Sam still had a voice was when Dean pulled out the glass shards. Then he groaned in pain. Dean winced when he did, but he had to do this.

Dean pulled out a shard of glass. Sam felt strangely thankful that the pieces were (relatively) big. If they had been small and hard to pull out, Sam would be here for much longer.

"Sam, who did this?" Dean murmured.

 _You wouldn't believe me if I told you. What am I supposed to say? 'Yeah, Dad did this. He does that when he's drunk'? Because_ that _would go over well._

He didn't meet Dean's eyes. If he looked Dean in the eye, he'd tell the truth, John be damned. Dean probably knew it too because he reached out and forced Sam to look at at him. Sam refused to meet his eyes, glancing at the walls, the ceiling, anywhere but his brother's pleading, piercing eyes.

But Sam was lying on the bed on his stomach, legs on the pillow and head at the foot of the bed. All Dean had to do was squat down or kneel, and he'd be eye-to-eye with Sam.

In desperation, Sam pushed himself up with his arms, but it was too fast. He was too dizzy. Not that it would stop him--it was Dean who forced him to sit back down.

"Whoa, Sammy, why are you so in such a rush?" Dean pressed lightly down on Sam's upper back, where he'd already removed some of the glass shards. "What's going on? Who--what did this?"

"I don't know," Sam said softly, still staring at the sheets on the bed. Blood. There was blood on the bed. Distantly he registered that he should be screaming but he was semiconscious and the urge to sleep was only getting stronger. He shut his eyes...just for a moment...

Dean slapped Sam's cheek lightly and Sam stiffened. He saw his father again in Dean's place. His eyes went wide. _Don't say anything. Don't. Say. Anything._ He couldn't even breath properly. He was hyperventilating. Fear was back again.

Dean noticed that he was panicking, though, because the next minute he spoke. "Sammy? It's me, Dean."  _What?_ In his state, it took a minute to register.

"Dean." He repeated. "Dean?" His voice cracked.

"Yeah," Dean replied, "Sammy, what did this?"

"No--"Sam croaked. Dean leaned closed, eager to know who it was. "No-thing. Don't worr--" and here Sam began to cough badly.

"If you say 'Don't worry,' I swear I'm going to--" Dean started but paused when Sam looked scared, like Dean was gonna attack him or something. Dean's heart broke. "I'm not going to _hurt_ you." Contrary to his words, he pulled out another piece of glass.

Sam grunted. Without sleeping or anesthesia, he wasn't equipped to deal with that much pain at once. The shards still in his back hurt. The open wounds they left ached. When Dean pulled them out, the wounds smarted. And stitching this up would be agony.

It was in this haze of blood and pain that Sam decided he wouldn't tell Dean. It hurt so much, so badly, but he never wanted Dean to feel this pain. His big brother didn't deserve this.

He wouldn't talk to Dean, period. Because he couldn't lie with a straight face, not to Dean.

Dean pulled out another piece of glass. Sam could tell that Dean was trying to be as clinical as possible, but Dean's hands were shaking. Even if he couldn't see his face, he knew that he wasn't the only one with watery eyes.

He wasnt sure whether to be thankful or angry that John had left the motel room door open.

Open to just about any horrible monsters or horrble humans, which, given John's paranoia, made him angry. But also open to Dean. Finally he settled on a mix of both, because Dean had come through for him again.

* * *

A fucking week. It had been a whole fucking week since Sam had last spoken to him.

After the incident, Sam had refused to talk to Dean. Period. Not even to ask him for something. The silence both pissed Dean off and worried him.  _What's going on with Sammy, that he can't even talk to me about it?_

Dean knew it was screwing with his mind. He couldn't focus anymore. Not on a case. Not on his father's orders. Not on anything but Sam.

(And maybe the mysterious Castiel, but that had  _nothing_ to do with  _anything_.)

He had lost concentration. Even as he wandered the streets back to the motel, he had only a gun to offset his absentmindedness.

It wouldn't be enough.

"Oh, Deeean!" A voice called out in a singsong manner. Dean looked up and immediately regretted not doing it earlier. A fist buried itself into his stomach, and he doubled over. He turned away, but a foot pressed down on his as he did. _Ouch, defini_ _tely twisted._

"De-demon..." Dean croaked out before coughing. He reached for his gun.

The demon laughed. It was possessing a human a little taller than Dean, with short blond hair. Her eyes were black. Demon black. And she wore the biggest damn ring Dean had ever seen. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Dean pulled his gun out anyway, flicked off the safety, and shot her in the leg. The expression on her face changed from psuedo-friendly to angry faster than a sugar-high vampire on her period. "Get him!" And suddenly there were two men gripping onto his arms.

One of then plucked the gun right out of his hand. "Nice gun, Dean." He smirked at seeing the hunter grit his teeth. "But it's absolutely useless." He punched Dean in the face.

"Hows 'absolutely useless' on that leg of yours, you demonic bitch?" Dean glared right back at the demon, whose smirk became more pronounced. 

The lady demon slapped him across the face. "Well, the gun's not completely useless. After all, we could still shoot you with it." She walked slowly and deliberately picked up the gun. "But that's not really our style." She dropped the gun. It landed with a clatter. "Any last words?"

Dean didn't say anything for a second. Then-- "I should be asking you that." He said. Despite that, he wasn't even confident he would live.

"You're bluffing. Pitifully." The demon huffed in amusement. "Nobody's going to save you."

 _I don't want to die._ Dean realized.  _But I can't get out of this alone._

The demon hit Dean in the head, hard enough to make him pass out. Dean's last thought was that  _she almost looked scared._ Then he passed out in the alley.

* * *

When Dean next opened his eyes, Castiel was kneeling beside him. 

Directly in front of him. 

For a minute, Dean couldn't look away.  _His eyes...they're a very bright blue._ Castiel didn't even blink. They were silent. There was something strange about this.

And then Dean realized why this quiet was so different. "Demons," he started, unable to find words when Castiel was standing close enough to kiss-- _where had that thought come from?_ He glanced behind Castiel. "Where--?" His voice was raspy, and he coughed.

"The demons are...gone." Castiel answered hestitantly. "If that is what you are asking."

"Did  _you_ gank 'em?" Dean asked, trying to sit up. When Castiel's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, he elaborated. "Did  _you_ send 'em back to hell?"

"I killed them..." Dean raised an eyebrow at the phrasing, and he backtracked.  "...I suppose..."

"Are you a hunter or something?" Dean's eyes narrowed.

"I know of the creatures, but I do not hunt them, except for demons." Castiel reached a hand out to Dean.

Without hestitating, Dean took it and sat up. "So you're a demon hunter."

"Yes."

"So...my dad would know you, right?" Dean knew full well that his dad did not, in fact, know a Castiel.  _So if he says he does, I know not to trust him..._

"No. I am...new at this job, but I know of your father." With that, Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean and effortlessly picked him up, bridal style.

Dean blushed hard and then promptly kicked him in the stomach with his good leg. Castiel put him down.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean asked. "You don't just--"

Castiel brought a hand to his stomach--slowly, unsurely, as if he didn't feel the pain. "You are injured, and cannot walk alone."

"Who says I can't?" Dean muttered under his breath.

"Your injured leg, Dean." Castiel said flatly.

Dean grabbed his arm and pulled himself up, then wrapped an arm around the other man's shoulders. "There." Now it was Castiel's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Come on, let's walk."

* * *

Castiel considered debating it--for Dean's sake, as the (other?) hunter was hurt--but decided against it. Instead, he pressed a hand to his back to catch him if needed.

He watched Dean flush darkly, but Dean did not say anything, so he did not say anything either. It was in this state that they reached the hotel.

Castiel turned to Dean. The boy pointed to a room to their left. "There." Dean nodded. Castiel began to walk again at a steady pace, not as fast as he'd walk alone.

When they got there, Dean knocked on the door. "Sam?" The door opened. Sam saw Dean and panicked. 

"Dean, what happened?" Sam looked genuinely concerned. He turned to Castiel. "Here, bring him in."

As soon as Dean was on one of the beds--feeling  _embarrasse_ _dhurtconfusedsuspicious_ \-- Sam turned to Castiel. "So who are you?"

"My name is Castiel," he responded. "And I...hunt demons." It wasn't a lie, but it also wasn't the truth. He resisted the urge to introduce himself as an angel of the Lord. He had a feeling that it would not end well.

"How'd that--" He gestured to Dean on the bed. "--happen?"

"He was preoccupied, worried, and was ambushed."

"Preoccupied? With what?"

"With  _you_ , with your situation."

"What situation?" Sam asked suspiciously.

"You know the situation." Castiel responded. "And you can't keep this secret for much longer."

"What secret?" Sam's voice shook slightly, but he remained remarkably calm. To anybody else, he would look confused.

But Castiel knew better. "You know which one."

Sam stubbornly glared at Castiel. "Well,  _I_ won't tell him." While Castiel did not doubt for a second that Sam would take the secret to the grave if he could, he knew equally well that Dean would follow him. He could not allow that. 

(He ignored the disturbing amount of sadness he felt at the thought of Sam dead. It was on Dean's behalf. Yes, that was a good explanation.)

"He will find out regardless." Castiel knew one thing for certain: now that Dean knew that Sam had a big secret, he would stop at nothing to find it. He was  _concernedscaredsadangryconfused_ ; Castiel recognized the feeling as recklessness, because he had felt them himself before he came to Earth. 

"How?" Sam asked.

Castiel wondered in this instant if he and Sam were talking about the same thing. He did not seem to understand it. (And he thought humans were expert in speaking in cryptic codes, that just knowing the words would not crack.) He said it as plainly as he could without giving it away.

"Either you tell him, _or_   _I will._ "

 


	14. Waiting for Thursday, Part 1

"How do you know?" Sam's eyes narrowed. "How do you _know?_ _"_

Castiel didn't say anything. Sam glanced to his brother, who looked confused, then back to Castiel, who stared back impassively. His mouth dropped open slightly as he realized what had just happened.

 _Anger_. He felt furious. He wanted to honestly punch this Castiel in the face. He'd just been played by a guy he didn't even know. _And I have no idea how or when...or why. Shit. Now Dean knows that I have a_ really _big secret._

"You—" Sam could barely speak; he was shaking with a rage and a fear bigger than he could control. "Why are you doing this?"

Castiel didn't respond, again. Sam opened his mouth to tell him to get out, when-

"Boys—” John walked in, and saw Castiel. Before anyone else could react, John splashed Castiel in the face with holy water. If it had been anyone else, Sam would have been satisfied. But right now he was terrified that Castiel would spill everything. When Castiel was unaffected, Sam relaxed slightly. _I didn’t even think of that. He could have been some demon or something, and he could have hurt Dean…_ Sam berated himself. _Stupid, worthless idiot. Can’t even check for demons, can’t even help_ Dean.

He buried his face in his hands.

“Sam, are you alright?” _Gee, thanks, Castiel,_ Sam thought, _your voice has maybe half a note of concern._ Sam meant to tell him to _get out_. That he had _no right_ to interfere in their lives and then act concerned. _But he_ did _save Dean._

So what came out instead was, “I’m fine, thanks.” His go-to response to anyone’s questions.

“Are you sure?” John asked.

_Does it matter?_

“Y-yessir.” Sam stuttered out. He uncovered his face.

Dean was looking at Sam from the bed with confusion, understanding, and a hint of horror. John looked…almost caring. _Yeah, I’ll believe John cares when I believe in the tooth fairy and Santa Claus._ Castiel looked calm but his body betrayed him: he was tense as well, and his hands clenched into fists and unclenched repeatedly.

Sam felt slightly better until he looked at his father again. John was a terror-inducing sight of rage barely kept in check. _I’m in so much trouble tonight…_

Castiel sent him a worried glance, as did Dean. Sam could almost hear them both, chiding him for keeping the secret.

But the idea of John scared him more than he was ever willing to admit.

And so both would have to wait.


End file.
